


Native Tongue

by Galiko



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1529069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galiko/pseuds/Galiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuji is fairly certain that language proficiency means nothing at the end of the day, because no matter what comes out of his mouth, nothing makes sense. </p><p>Fuji's life chronicled, more or less, with heavy one-sided Fuji-->Tezuka, some affection for Fuji/Taka, and Fuji/Niou as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Native Tongue

Fuji isn't entirely certain why he's so taken with English. That being said, the first time he hears his father speak it, he knows he wants to learn. 

 

"Actually," his father says, amused, plopping his eldest son down onto his knee, "your first words were in English."

 

"No, they weren't," his mother insistently argues, food splattered against one cheek, because Yuuta was protesting again about his meals (sensitive stomach and all that). "It was definitely in Japanese."

 

"Ignore your mother," Fuji's father says, and that becomes something of a mantra later on in life. 

 

~

 

Because he was born on a leap year-- _lucky, really cool,_ his friends in elementary school say--it's just easier for his parents to celebrate his birthday together with Yuuta's.

 

Fuji doesn't mind, but Yuuta does. Every time that it comes up, every single year for as long as Yuuta has been cognizant of it, he's been angry. His brow furrows and his teeth bare and he insists that _he can have his own birthday, it's his, not Shuusuke's!_

 

Age eight, and Fuji has gotten into the habit of just smiling and shrugging, telling his parents that it's fine, that it can just be Yuuta's birthday.

 

If it makes Yuuta happy, that's better, anyway.

 

~

 

Yuuta is never happy, and hates most things about him, unfortunately.

 

Fuji misses when they were four and five years old, when Yuuta would cling to his hand and curl up in bed with him at night. Now, all Yuuta wants to do is hiss and spit at him, avoiding him like the plague. He won't even go to the beach with him and Saeki anymore, and that makes Fuji worry at his lower lip until it bleeds.

 

"Why doesn't he want to come out with us?" Saeki asks, and Fuji shrugs, flopping face first onto his surfboard. He gets splashed right in the face with the next roll of the ocean, and breathes in salt. 

 

"He's like that sometimes."

 

Yuuta isn't just like that sometimes. He's like that because he's always like that now. 

 

~

 

"You can _stop_ being so good at things, Aniki," Yuuta snaps at him.

 

Fuji knows he probably should. It would work a lot better for him in the long run--at least, with his little brother. He doesn't need to be good at all of these things. Surfing, snow boarding, tennis, figure skating, piano, languages--it's all sort of pointless. He should just pick one.

 

It's unfortunate that he picks the one thing that Yuuta wants to excel at, too, and Fuji feels like his heart is perpetually twisting in his chest after that. 

 

~

 

Transferring to Seigaku is supposed to make things different. At least, that's what his father has been saying for awhile.

 

"This promotion is going to do a lot of things for us!"

 

His sister is excited, because her new acting gig has even more chances to flourish in Tokyo. His mother is excited, because big house, huge kitchen, enormous garden. Yuuta is excited because he _doesn't have to deal with Shuusuke's friends anymore, gross._

 

Fuji is less excited. It's not that he's shy, or afraid of meeting new people. It's everything but that, exactly, because he knows how to talk to people and knows how to make them like him. He's a little too good at it, he thinks, because it makes even his sister's boyfriends gravitate towards him, and that can get pretty weird. 

 

Chiba is the cheap version of Tokyo, and that's obvious with a glance. Fuji never minded that, though. He much preferred being a bike ride from the ocean, but…ah, well.

 

The tennis team is a good start, at least, and at least the girls in his class don't follow him to the court. Instead, there's Tezuka Kunimitsu, quiet and withdrawn in all the ways he really shouldn't be. 

 

"But you're really good," Fuji says, stupidly, unknowingly. "Why won't they let you play?" 

 

"Because I'm a first year."

 

Transferring to Seigaku certainly has made things different, without a doubt. 

 

~

 

Fuji looks forward to losing to Tezuka.

 

The thing is that he's very much into the idea of winning. He loves winning, always wants to win, always has tried to excel and win at everything that he's done. It's not his fault that it usually doesn't take much effort at all, but--

 

With Tezuka, it seems like it will.

 

The disappointment coats his throat, makes his lungs feel like they've been wrung out, makes his stomach twist and toss in his belly, all because Tezuka isn't _well_ , because Tezuka can't _play_ like Fuji had imagined that he would.

 

"Promise me!" he insists, grabbing at Tezuka too hard, until he feels the brittleness of bones and skin and the panicked tension in Tezuka's body. "Promise me you'll play me again!"

 

Tezuka agrees, but Fuji knows that means nothing. 

 

~

 

It doesn't matter if Tezuka only agrees to shut him up. He _agreed._

 

"We would look good together," Fuji says, thinking out loud. 

 

Eiji looks at him, brow furrowed. He's a sweet person, but Fuji doesn't think he's the brightest bulb on the tree--not in the kind of way that Fuji is. It's rude to say that sort of thing, though, so he doesn't bother. He only says those kinds of things when it serves a purpose. 

 

"Tezuka and I, I mean." 

 

"Fuji," Eiji slowly says, "Tezuka is scary."

 

"Maybe to you." 

 

"Look, you can't just like someone because you think that the two of you would look good together. That's weird!"

 

Fuji doesn't value the opinions of others very much, and that's good, he thinks. 

 

~

 

Maybe English is so appealing because no one understands the words that he's saying in plain Japanese. 

 

"I really wish I could play tennis like you." 

 

It's an itch that he can't help but scratch. He has to say things that compliment Tezuka, that make him feel special, because Fuji thinks that Tezuka is the best thing he's ever seen since coming to Seigaku. 

 

No matter what he says, though, Tezuka barely even looks at him. 

 

This is why Japanese is useless.

 

~

 

"Fuji, what do you know about girls?"

 

Eiji might not be the smartest (that's not entirely true, the longer that Fuji knows him), but he certainly is the quickest to find a cute girl in the nearby vicinity. "Enough," Fuji says, setting his book down. "Why?"

 

Mostly, Fuji knows that girls grate on his nerves, and are too shy and not usually that all. He knows that they can't play tennis like Tezuka, and that makes him set his teeth into a slow grind. 

 

"What's the best way to kiss them?"

 

Fuji takes the time to demonstrate, because Japanese is definitely not a good language for this sort of thing at all. 

 

~

 

Their second year, Tezuka is the vice captain, and Fuji expects great things.

 

It's even better because Yuuta is here, Yuuta is thinking about joining the team, but he hasn't yet, no matter how Fuji begs.

 

"It'll be great, Yuuta!"

 

"It won't," Yuuta practically snarls. "Because _you're_ there, and I'll never be anything but your little brother."

 

"Listen," Fuji insists, grabbing at his hands, already so much bigger than his own, "it'll be great. We'll be able to play together, just come to the ranking tournament."

 

Yuuta shows up, albeit begrudgingly, but Fuji can see the hope in his eyes. It's a shame, of course, that no matter how he begs and pleads, no one will let a first year play in the ranking tournament--not again, because Yuuta isn't anywhere near as good as Tezuka. 

 

~

 

Yuuta transfers to St. Rudolph, and nothing hurts more.

 

Giving up everything else he was good at didn't hurt. The transplant to Tokyo didn't hurt. The win over Tezuka didn't hurt all that much either, not in comparison to this. 

 

"It'll be fine, honey," his mother tells him. "It's just a phase, he'll get over it!"

 

_Ignore your mother, ignore your mother, ignore your mother._

 

"Seriously, he's missing out," Yumiko says. "Shuusuke, come with me to my autograph party tomorrow!"

 

Fuji skips practice to do as much, because tennis is nothing but Yuuta in his mind right now, and regrets it. The publishing staff wants him as a model, and that's just _one more thing_ that he's apparently good at. 

 

"No, thanks," he says, but later, Yumiko is furious.

 

"You _can't_ turn down offers like that! I'm going to tell them you changed your mind."

 

The cuts on his thighs burn later that night, but he does sleep pretty well. 

 

~

 

As time goes on, it's a lot easier to paint the picture of a damsel in distress than anything else. 

 

It works well for him. It gets him what he wants. It makes his friends stick around. Even if it's only because they think they're keeping him safe from some unknown evil, they stick around, and that's good, he thinks.

 

It doesn't work with Tezuka, and that's a shame. If he acts like a wilting flower around Tezuka, Tezuka mostly just looks exasperated. Fuji feels a little part of himself shrivel up when that happens, and the smile temporarily fades from his face when Tezuka looks somewhere else, somewhere away from _him_. 

 

Now, he looks at Atobe Keigo, the runner up in the Kantou tournament, the tournament they can never seem to make better than fourth in. Their coach got everyone at Seigaku tickets to the Nationals, all to watch everyone lose--again--to Rikkai, the Reigning Kings.

 

Fuji thinks he catches a glimpse of what's happening behind Rikkai's fluttering banner and sparkling trophy, and if he's right, it's Rikkai's bubbly captain, crushing a kiss up against a grumpy Sanada Genichirou's (Tezuka's self-proclaimed rival, tall, annoying, kind of hot) sweaty cheek. 

 

Fuji contemplates, and thinks it would be nice to some day steal a kiss from Tezuka from behind Seigaku's banner like that.  

 

~

 

Fuji spends a lot of time imagining what Tezuka's face would look like if Fuji just suddenly kissed him in the clubhouse, for starters. 

 

He imagines it mostly would reflect something akin to horror, which makes him refrain. None of his words would help, anyway; not even the English ones.

 

~

 

He should be motivated. He's not.

 

Instead, he spends his time teaching Kawamura Takashi--shy, shy Taka-san, who practically cowers behind his tennis bag until there's a racquet in his hand. Fuji thinks it's funny. 

 

That being said, Taka is honestly harmless, and sweet, and gentle enough that Fuji wonders if his influence will be a horrible thing around him. 

 

"I'm hopeless," Taka says, dejected as he slumps back against the cage. "I really think you're wasting your time with me, Fuji."

 

"Nope. You've almost got it," Fuji hums, and gently swats a ball over to him. "Let's work on keeping that serve _in_ the lines, okay?" 

 

It's a surprise to everyone but him when Taka actually makes the regulars in his third year. It's never really talked about, never really discussed, because everyone is far too enamored with one Echizen Ryouma, brat extraordinaire. 

 

He's cute, Fuji will give him that, but he can't make sushi like Taka-san can, and Taka is grateful enough that he wants to prepare a whole slew of it for Fuji that evening. Fuji takes him up on the offer, only because it sounds more interesting than sitting up in his room alone with a bunch of cacti. 

 

~

 

Fuji is good at ignoring things, but not when they relate to Yuuta.

 

He wishes he was. He wishes he could leave his little brother be, and let him make his own decisions. He wishes, very strongly, that Yuuta wouldn't constantly fall into his path.

 

He doesn't, however, wish for anything but Mizuki Hajime's slow, painful death. The tennis match was just a start, and for once, Fuji decides to believe in karma.

 

Mizuki will get what's coming to him, and so will he, some day. 

 

~

 

Tezuka _is_ beautiful.

 

He's lovely in the way that makes Fuji's breath catch in his throat, lovely in the way that he can't help but stare and stop breathing without realizing it, lovely in the way that he closes a hand around his own throat at night when he masturbates and tries to duplicate that same feeling. 

 

It doesn't work, not as well. 

 

His sister notices the marks--she usually does, on his neck, on his ribs when he takes his shirt off and tosses it into the laundry basket she's holding--but she says nothing.

 

That's good, because Fuji usually has too much to say (and never does, either). 

 

He likes the way that Tezuka's fingernails look when he's holding his racquet. They're long and rounded, like he actually spends time on them, and it makes his fingers look longer and more elegant still. For someone so tall and masculine and strong, he has pretty hands, hands that would look more accurate on a girl. 

 

He gets lost staring, and Eiji has to elbow him to make him actually start running the laps that he's been assigned. 

 

~

 

Echizen makes his blood pump faster, too. 

 

 _Echizen_ knows how to play. Not just play tennis, but _play_ , and maybe that's why Fuji doesn't want to stop the game that they started in the rain. 

 

Or maybe that's because of Tezuka, too.

 

For once, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, they'll have something in common. They'll have something to talk about that isn't awkward and stilted, and oh, does Fuji want that. 

 

"Did it feel like this for you, too, Tezuka? When you played him?"

 

Tezuka looks at him, confused, and Fuji stares up at him through his soaking wet bangs, his bated breath caught in his throat. 

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"I've never…" Fuji swallows, the words sticking in his throat. He hates Japanese, more than ever. Tezuka is so very, very Japanese, isn't he? "Before now, I never wanted to really _play_ before." 

 

"I always give it my all, no matter what." 

 

 _God, you're just perfect, aren't you?_ Fuji mournfully, wistfully thinks, and something makes his breath hiccup. 

 

~

 

Except Tezuka isn't perfect. 

 

That's proven when his arm shatters, when his patience snaps and he screams at the team to leave them alone, when he won't even entertain a moment of Fuji's concern and barely a second of Oishi's tending to get him through the match. 

 

Fuji settles for staring Atobe down instead, but it matters little, because Atobe doesn't care (or even notice). 

 

Tezuka's loss makes the ground shake underneath Fuji's feet. It makes him feel like he's been shot in the gut, like he's bleeding out slowly, and it's with a sort of numb fascination that he watches Echizen's match. Somehow, he's sure that Tezuka knew, and that's why Echizen's their reserve today when he's been in singles every other time. 

 

Tezuka is perfect after all. 

 

~

 

Briefly, Fuji thinks back on how badly he destroyed Akutagawa, just because he soundly defeated Yuuta. He wonders why he did that, but then he remembers that Tezuka is leaving to recover, and that preoccupies his thoughts more. 

 

~

 

Saeki is boring. He's always boring. He's been boring since Chiba, and he's boring now. 

 

"It was a great match," Saeki says, thrusting out his hand, sweaty and sticky, and Fuji smiles, taking it even though it makes him want to cringe. 

 

It wasn't a great match at all.

 

Without the proper audience, nothing is. 

 

~

 

Taka-san is a rock that yields too easily, and Fuji can't decide if he likes that dichotomy or finds it disgusting. 

 

What _does_ make him feel good, however, are Taka's hands, strong and broad even if they shake when they reach out and touch his hair. Fuji smiles, and nudges his head up into the touch, and rather likes the way just that alone is enough to make Taka breathe slower and more deeply. 

 

He's easy. It makes Fuji feel a little sick, actually. 

 

~

 

Destroying Kirihara isn't as satisfying as Fuji would like, but he enjoys grinding the little idiot's face into the ground all the same.

 

If he had been able to see properly, it would have been better. He would have been able to see the disappointment there when Kirihara couldn't break his own record--never mind that he had a reason this time. 

 

He's told, later, that Taka-san gives him something of a judging look. He wasn't able to see it, so that's better, and honestly, he doesn't care if he kept Rikkai from going to see their captain in the hospital. 

 

He probably should. To be fair, he should care about a lot of things. 

 

~

 

"Do you think," Fuji asks aloud, "that Tezuka is sleeping right now?" 

 

Eiji gives him a look--the look that Fuji does like ignoring, because there's nothing more annoying than Eiji being annoyed about what _he_ likes--and shrugs. "If he is, then good for him."

 

"I wonder what he's dreaming about."

 

"Fujiko," Eiji says, very calmly, very deadpan, "you need to stop."

 

~

 

Losing takes the breath out of Fuji's lungs.

 

He thinks of Tezuka--no, he doesn't want to think of Tezuka, not when sweat is running down his forehead and down his jaw, when he's blinking it off his lashes and maybe those are tears. He doesn't want to think about how disappointed he must be, because he's here to win, _they're_ here to win, and even Echizen is just rolling his eyes to the sky. His stomach churns. 

 

Losing makes Fuji feel like he's been stabbed in the gut. 

 

The bench is cold and metal and unforgiving when he wishes it were just the ground. He wants to lie down, to huddle up in a ball and sob from some deep cavity in his chest, but he can't. Instead, he just sets a towel on his head, and tries to remember how to breathe. His eyes unfocus.

 

Losing makes Fuji realize this is why _he_ can never be Seigaku's pillar of support, especially when he lost to Shitenhouji's. 

 

~

 

No one talks about it--the loss, that is. Even at home, no one does, and Yuuta pretends like it never happened. 

 

Fuji wishes that Yuuta would mock him for it. Maybe then Yuuta could have something to properly hold over his head, other than the disgusting little fact that he makes out with Mizuki Hajime. 

 

Maybe he should pick up figure skating again.

 

Instead, he mostly thinks of Tezuka, and how he moved when he played against Chitose, and how long his legs are and how pretty his fingers are and how he looked with sweat sliding down his neck and to his collar bones. 

 

That puts Fuji to sleep quite nicely. 

 

~

 

Niou grates on his nerves. 

 

He isn't Tezuka. Fuji can tell the difference. Fuji can breathe it, smell it, see it when his eyes are shut, when his heart thuds out of his chest and every ball that returns doesn't feel like Tezuka at all. 

 

That's why he wins--because he knows Tezuka better than anyone. 

 

That being said, there are very few people that he has ever wanted so badly to throw against a wall and kiss senseless, but Niou is one of them. 

 

Maybe later.

 

~

 

Later isn't his envisioned glory, but it'll do. 

 

It's Echizen--Tezuka's favorite, Tezuka's _child_ , his protege--that's tossed into the air, surprised at first, then laughing, smiling, and it's infectious. Fuji doesn't like feeling like he's been infected by the masses, but it'll do for now.

 

Even Tezuka smiles, and Fuji basks in that. 

 

"Tezuka, even you can smile like that." 

 

"Don't talk about that, Fuji."

 

 _We had a moment_ , Fuji happily thinks, his heart beating out of his chest anew, and oh, suddenly, it's all worth it. This is where his choices have led him, and that's good.

 

Japanese is good for very little, but this might do in a pinch. 

 

~

 

(Later comes, and Niou doesn't need words, and that makes it even better.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
